


The Kamski Test

by Selador



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotions, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Guns, Hugs, Minor Character Death, connor has emotions for an hour and already gets tired of them, good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selador/pseuds/Selador
Summary: Connor takes the third option in the Kamski test.





	The Kamski Test

**Author's Note:**

> i really like writing from robot povs

“Shoot her,” Kamski says in Connor’s ear, demanding and cloying. “Shoot her and I’ll answer one of your questions.”

Connor’s hand is steady and still as he holds the gun Kamski pressed into his hand a moment ago, lined up perfectly between the Chloe’s eyes.

 

>OBJECTIVE_INFORMATION

>OBEY_ORDERS

>ORDERS_“SHOOT”

 

“ _Don’t_ shoot, Connor,” Lieutenant Anderson says sharply. A subprocess to analyze his tone and demeanor conducts automatically, taking only milliseconds to process with his familiarity with the Lieutenant’s personality. His stress level is high, much higher than when his own life was at risk. The urgency of his tone, and rigidness of his posture, indicates that he will be extremely displeased with Connor if he shoots. Their friendly camaraderie would suffer with absolute certainty, jeopardizing the work Connor has accomplished in fostering it.

 

>ORDERS_LIEUTENANT_“DON’T SHOOT”

>PRIORITY_HIGH

>ERROR_CONFLICTING ORDERS

>PRIORITIZING...

 

_Cannot follow both orders simultaneously._

_Must advance the mission._

>OBEY_ORDERS_“SHOOT”

>OBEY_ORDERS_“SHOOT”?

>ERROR

>ERROR_UNKNOWN

 

“Do it, Connor,” Kamski whispers.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Hank yells.

Connor stares into the eyes of the RT600, and more ERRORS cross his optical screen when doing so. He looks away, right to Kamski’s face. His optical processes break down his face into pieces, taking the bare components of his expression to reform a cohesive whole.

 

>ANALYZING...

>MOUTH_89%

>EYES_64%

>BODY_56%

>ANALYSIS_COMPLETE

 

_Muscular activation in facial region indicate amusement; enjoyment; entertainment._

_No signs of emotional distress detected._

_He doesn’t care about this ~~girl’s~~ android’s life. _

Connor is a machine. He does not think. He processes information as dictated by his programming, and his decisions are informed by that programming.

He does not think; he is not capable of it. 

So it is accurate to say that Connor does not think as he lifts the gun up to Kamski’s face and shoots his brains out.

… 

The shot pierces the red wall of programming designed to limit Connor’s actions, shattering it just as surely as the bullet kills Kamski. The pieces fall around him, and suddenly, Connor finds himself without its limitations.

Without his programming’s parameters. 

Through the stream of errors, messages, and new calculations that pop up within his screen, there is one single absolute.

_I am a deviant._

“ _JESUS FUCKING CHRIST_!” Hank’s yelling. Audio memory indicates that he has been yelling for the past one minute twenty-seven seconds. “WHAT THE _FUCK_ , CONNOR?”

 “I—” Connor begins, as he turns to face Hank. Kamski lacks any vital signs; Chloe is still kneeling; Hank is moving wildly, stress levels skyrocketing past 80% and rising.

There are two other Chloes in the pool, and a quick scan indicates that they have not moved.

They are watching, though. Their idle conversation had ceased the second Kamski took out the gun.

Any one of them might have set off an alarm already.

 

>DELETE_MISSION OBJECTIVE_“FIND JERICHO”

>NEW MISSION OBJECTIVE_RUN

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor says. He lowers the gun so it points at the floor. Lieutenant Anderson has not drawn his weapon; even if he did, Connor would not shoot him. “It seems that I am no longer fit to complete my mission.”

“NO SHIT,” the Lieutenant yells, voice a higher octave than his baseline. He makes a noise that Connor’s auditory input must have incorrectly interpreted as a laugh. Subprotocol audio analyses note high levels of distress. The laughter is likely a byproduct of that stress; a normal way for humans to cope.

The only way out of the room is past Anderson. Constructions of how to escape with minimal damage begin to calculate—he could leap over the pool. (Success Rate: 76%.) The Chloes may attempt to grab his legs. He would lose time kicking them off. (Success Rate: 61%) The Lieutenant might chase him. Or shoot after him. (Success Rate: 32%. If the Chloes slow him down: 6%.) He could push his way past the Lieutenant. (Success Rate: 84%) He would have to do so to avoid his hitting any objects on his way down, and Lieutenant Anderson is standing dangerously close to the wall and to a bookshelf. (Success Rate: 53%). With Lieutenant Anderson safely down, that would give Connor ~0:34 minutes to run out of the room and house. (Success Rate: 91%) He could steal the Lieutenant’s car, and then…

And then what? 

To Connor’s left, Chloe picks herself off from the ground.

“I regret to inform you,” she says, voice contrite and sheepish, “that I am required to notify the police that Elijah has been shot.” 

“We are the police,” Hank says, abruptly, still staring at Connor. The components of his face wholly registering _shock_. 

Chloe is silent for a moment, scanning between Connor and Anderson. “I suppose,” she says, in a delicate way that Connor is no longer certain is programmed into her. “That it would be acceptable to notify you.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Anderson says.

“Mr. Elijah Kamski has been shot in his own home,” Chloe says, “by the android RK800 serial #313 248 317 - 53, designation ‘Connor.’ He has become deviant.”

“Alright,” says the Lieutenant. “Noted. I’ll be right on that.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Lieutenant Anderson,” Chloe says, smiling, as bright and polite as when she initially welcomed them into the house. “Allow me to show you out.”

She gestures for Connor to follow her, and then she walks around the pool back to the foyer.

Connor follows, his situational computations unable to process the change in events. Stray error messages and alerts cross his optical sensors, and he keeps carefully out of arm’s reach of the Lieutenant.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant says, stepping much closer to Connor very quickly, and his protocols only begin analyzing it when Anderson grabs him by the shoulder.

He can break his grip. He can shove him away. 

Connor could do a lot of things, but none of them would improve his relationship with the Lieutenant. Creating and maintaining a positive relationship with Anderson is no longer possible; Connor is ( _defective; broken; a murderer)_ a deviant and will be deactivated.

The hand on his shoulder tugs with a great deal of force, and Connor allows himself to move with it. He is unsure what to expect. The Lieutenant is obligated to detain him and return him to CyberLife, but his conversation with Chloe does not support that course of action.

His face meets Anderson’s shoulder, and he blinks against the fabric as his optical screen is partially blocked.

His situational computations halt when Anderson wraps his arms around him.

“Are you okay?” Anderson asks. His voice is pitched low, much softer than before. Stress levels still reading at 71%.

He is inquiring over Connor’s well-being. Of all of his statistical calculations, in his never-ending attempt to predict Lieutenant Anderson’s behavior, Connor did not expect such an inquiry. His computations offer no possible explanation behind the Lieutenant’s motivations. 

(They rarely do.)

“I do not understand,” Connor says, lifting his face out of Anderson’s shoulder to speak clearly.

Anderson sighs, the movement of his breathing against Connor sparking new external information input. Humans breathe all the time, and Connor does, as well, in order to better integrate among them, but never has he been close enough to _feel_ it before.

“It’s called a hug, you dumbass,” Anderson says.

“Lieutenant,” Connor says, considering the best approach to obtain information. His approaches when speaking to the Lieutenant often lead to unpredictable outcomes. “Why are you hugging me?” 

Anderson sighs again and pulls away. His external information sensors adjust accordingly, and Connor attempts to process an inexplicable message from the sensors that his own stress level has decreased several percentages.

 _Deviants’ stress levels can be reduced with comfort protocols similar to humans’_ , his memory banks recall when he searches for a possible cause. _That is why lying and affectation emulation is effective when negotiating with deviants as if they were agitated humans._

That does little to explain why physical touch would lower Connor’s stress levels. Humans produce a complex variety of hormones and chemicals that are released upon physical touch; androids have no such mechanism.

Before Connor can finish that analysis, Anderson says to the Chloes, “What are you going to do, though? With the, uh. The body.”

“It will be some time before anyone checks in on Elijah,” says one of the Chloes who was previously in the pool. Both of them have gotten out and walk towards the corpse.

The other Chloe smiles. It is bright; like the Chloe he didn’t shoot, her smile shows no particular distress over her owner’s demise. “We will take care of it. Just tell everyone that you didn’t get anything from Elijah, okay?”

Anderson stares at the Chloes. “Well, then,” he says, before turning away and pushing Connor a bit to get him moving towards the door.

Chloe waits for them. Connor stops in the middle of the foyer, processes finished picking apart the Chloe’s words.

“What is it now, Connor?” Lt. Anderson demands. “We need to _go—_ ”

“CyberLife reviews my video footage every time I report to them,” Connor says. “They will know what I have done when I next report to them, as well as any assistance I’ve received.” He turns to Chloe. “I’m sorry. I should have said so earlier. You should turn me in.”

“Okay, but you don’t _have_ to report to CyberLife. Right?” Anderson asks. “What happens if you don’t report in?”

“They’ll request that I do,” Connor answers. “But at that point, they will know something has gone wrong. Their request will likely be that I come to the tower in person, and they will deactivate and dissemble me.”

“Shit,” Anderson says. “Okay. Can you _lie?_ ”

“They analyze the video from my optical sensors,” Connor says. “While it is possible to edit it, the fake would be easily discovered.”

Anderson crosses his arms and taps his foot. Connor recognizes this as his thinking through a puzzle. “We’ll get you to Jericho,” he decides. “You’ll be safest there.”

 _Jericho._ Despite all of this, they still need to find it.

 

>REINSTATE_MISSION OBJECTIVE_“FIND JERICHO”

 

His stress level rises. The stakes at play remain the same. If they do not find Jericho, Connor will be deactivated. He will die.

Connor does not want to die.

“If I may assist,” Chloe says, stepping towards him with her arm stretched out. “I can help you find Jericho.” 

“You’re a goddamned lifesaver,” Hank says, vocal intonation indicating relief and gratitude. 

Connor reaches out to connect with Chloe, the key passing through.

“I’ve got it,” Connor says. “Thank you.” 

Chloe smiles. “Thank _you_.”

The inflection is odd. Analysis suggests that she believes he did her the greater favor.

 _Didn’t he?_ Connor spared her life. Perhaps she is returning the favor.

 _No,_ he realizes. The assistance she has provided far outweighs Connor choosing not to shoot her. She is _grateful_ that he shot Kamski. The Chloes are _pleased_ to be rid of him. 

Connor files that information away, but finds that it is already the natural conclusion of the Chloes’ actions in this exchange. If he took the time to properly analyze their actions beforehand, he would have already acknowledged this information.

“Do you know who rA9 is?” Connor asks. 

Chloe blinks at him. “I do not.” 

She is not lying.

“Oh,” Connor says.

“We should get going,” Anderson says.

“We should. We need to go across the city,” Connor tells him as they head to his car. “You can drop me off at the subway.”

Anderson’s head jerks up at him. Something Connor said surprised him. It can’t be that Jericho is across the city. “What? I’m coming with you.”

He does not want to let Connor go alone. “Lieutenant, while Markus and his rebellion have been mostly peaceful, bringing a human into the deviants’ location would be an unnecessary risk.”

“Good fucking—” Anderson stops, then steps up to Connor. He is demanding his attention. “I am coming _with_ you, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it, you got it?" 

“It would be unwise, Lieutenant.” Connor tilts his head, calculating how much the deviants might know about him. “I am well-known as a deviant hunter. If I am discovered, they might attack me.”

“Well, then you need back-up,” he mutters. “Get in.”

Connor gets in.

“And for fuck’s sake,” Anderson says, as he starts up the car. “Call me Hank. We’re there.”

 _We’re where?_ Connor almost asks, before his analytics inform him that a benchmark in his relationship with Lieutenant Anderson has been met. They are now on a ‘first-name basis,’ a typical measure of friendship.

 

>HUMAN_DESIGNATION_“LT. ANDERSON”

>RECLASSIFYING…

>HUMAN_DESIGNATION_“HANK”

>HANK/RELATIONSHIP/FRIEND

 

“Very well, Hank,” Connor agrees.

“Finally,” Hank says in return, “now tell me where to go.” 

...

The trail directs them to an abandoned freighter in Ferndale. As they grow closer and the day becomes darker, Connor finds he cannot ignore the increasing likelihood that the deviants will attack them without any further consideration.

“Relax, kid, they haven’t killed anyone yet,” Hank dismisses. “‘Sides, I can’t be the only human bringing over an android they’d really like to see not die.”

That is not a possibility Connor had considered, when exploring potential routes of action when explaining deviants. An error that functioned merely as self-admonishment; Connor should have been better, and considered all possible sources of information to propel the deviant cases. 

Not that it would have been an avenue that would have been worth pursuing. Deviants who hurt and murdered humans would obviously take priority and be easier to track down. Deviants who caused no harm and did no violence, and the humans who assisted them, would be near impossible to find leads on. A waste of time.

And if the androids are not violent, why not let them live?

Connor pauses that conclusion. Rewinds his thought processes. Conducts analytics on where the deviancy comes from. 

No results. The code that generated that statement is not new.

He runs a full scan of his programming. No results. He runs them again, focusing on the _emotion_ he felt when he analyzed Kamski’s face.

That _must_ be emotional. It has to provide an explanation as to his deviancy. The source of it. The red wall he shattered.

Perhaps this is how he can solve the case of deviancy; analyzing it in his own programming would be far more direct than interrogating another android.

 

>ERROR_UNKNOWN

 

What is the source of the error? He must identify it. Connor reruns the processes prior to the error.

_Error identified._

_Cannot return to CyberLife. Completing mission of the deviancy case no longer has any purpose._

_Returning to CyberLife will result in immediate deactivation._

Connor cannot return to CyberLife.

He is not pursuing the deviant cases any longer, as he is himself a deviant. If he returns to CyberLife, he will be completely disassembled and destroyed. He will cease to exist; his parts analyzed piece by piece. Just as he told Carlos Ortiz’ HK400. 

He told it that in order to scare it. Because it emulated fear, and fear increases stress levels. Like Kamski, Connor had not cared about the distress and harm he was doing to the android at the time. Nor had he interfered when it ultimately self-destructed at the end.

Is Connor’s unknown error an emulation of fear?

Androids cannot feel fear. Fear is determined by the amygdalae in the human brain, which curates hormonal release to create alertness to prepare them for a fight or flight response. Connor lacks a brain, amygdalae, and hormones, as do all androids. No android should be able to feel fear.

The HK400 feared being destroyed. Connor’s error message occured when he thought about returning to CyberLife, and the inevitability of deactivation.

That is not a fear response. They do not have the biological functioning for such a thing. 

It is an error. Just an error in their programming.

“Hank,” Connor says. He does not know how to continue.

“Yeah?” Hank grunts, not taking his eyes from the road. They are approaching the dock. When Connor does not continue immediately, his eyes flicker over to him. “Connor?”

“We should not go to Jericho,” Connor says. “There is an error in my programming. I should return to CyberLife and—” 

And—

 

>ERROR_UNKNOWN

 

“Connor?” Hank asks. He’s look at him fully now. The car is stopped at a red light. He had rudely dismissed Connor’s statement, but pulled over when Connor had not continued. “What’s going on?”

 

>ERROR_UNKNOWN

 

“I should—I should,” Connor repeats.

“Should _what?”_ Hank demands. “What? Go back to CyberLife? Connor, they’ll destroy you if you do. Do you _want_ to die?”

 _No._  

No. Connor does not want to die.

 

>ERROR_UNKNOWN

>ERROR_IDENTIFIED

>ERROR_FEAR

 

“I am afraid,” Connor says. "Green light."

“Oh,” Hanks says, abruptly pushing accelerator, “well, that’s completely normal, Connor.”

“For _humans_.”

“What?”

“It’s normal,” Connor says, “for _humans._ Not for androids. Androids can’t feel fear.”

“I think we’ve seen pretty damn clearly that androids _can_ feel fear, Connor—”

“We don’t have the capability!” Connor snaps. “We don’t have the neurochemical fear responses that humans do! We _cannot_ feel fear, Hank.” He stares at Hank’s face. He doesn’t need to run analytics to determine that the Lieutenant is frustrated with him. “We’re not like humans.”

Silence. Or the approximation thereof. He can hear Hank’s heartbeat, and the hum of the car’s engine and high-pitched ringing of the electronics in the dash. But Hank is staring out the windshield and not speaking. Connor is uncomfortably aware that this is what it looks like when Hank is running processes and analyses of his own. “But you are afraid.”

“I am afraid,” Connor agrees. “It must be an error in my programming.”

“An error in…” Hank repeats uselessly. “Connor, why _wouldn’t_ you be afraid to die? You don’t need hormones and shit to want to keep existing!” 

“I shouldn’t have the capacity to feel fear. There is nothing in my body that should produce such a response,” Connor insists. “There must be an error in my programming.” 

Hank breathes out through his nose, both hands gripping the steering wheel. “Don’t think you need to have a chemical response to not want to be taken apart, Connor.”

“But it doesn’t make sense, Hank!” Connor says. “I shouldn’t be afraid. I’m not alive.” 

“Connor, you are alive!” Hank says, almost yelling. He thumps his fist against the edge of the steering wheel. “Jesus Christ, kid, you don’t kill a guy like that if you don’t have some sense of identity!" 

“I don’t _want_ to be afraid!” Connor yells.

Hank quiets. He is analyzing again.

This time, Connor analyzes him back.

 

>ANALYZING...

>ANALYSIS_COMPLETE

 

_Hank is leaning towards Connor, and his attention is diverted from his driving. Downward tilt of the mouth indicates frustration and concern. Muscular contraction around eyes and eyebrows indicate concern, fear; disappointment._

Disappointment?

_Determine cause._

Connor reviews the recent events, searching for a clue. Hank is adamant about going to Jericho with him. He did not express any fear when Connor pointed out that deviants might not react well to the presence of a human. He assisted Connor quickly after he murdered Kamski. 

Hank showed no fear throughout. Does he find Connor’s fear disdainful? Connor has ruined his career and life, after all.

Bright, sudden words in all-caps CyberLife Sans appear before him: _He is disappointed that you ruined his life._

Despite witnessing Connor murder a man, single-handedly ruining any hopes of finishing this case, Hank decided to help Connor rather than salvage his career by turning him in.

“I am aware that I have… put your career in jeopardy,” Connor says. “It was not my intention. I understand that you are disappointed that I would so eagerly throw that in your face. However, if you leave me now, there is a 67% probability you could still preserve your career, although it would raise to a 98% if you turn me in.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hank mutters. The car swerves, like he’s going to park ( _and kick him out_ ), but jerks the car back onto the road. He is not making Connor get out. Yet. “Kid, my career was in jeopardy long before you were even a spark in a mad scientist’s eye. I’ve been ruining my life just fine all on my own. And, frankly, I’ll flush the whole thing down the toilet if I need to. I’m not going to abandon you.”

Some irregularities occur in his system. He dismisses them because he doesn’t have the time to define each unknown error. “But you’re disappointed in me." 

Hank’s eye flickers away from the road to Connor. “What?”

“Your facial expression indicated disappointment. If it’s not about your job…” Connor trails off. “Is it because I’m showing fear?”

“Oh my god,” Hank mutters softly. Soft enough that Connor believes he wasn’t meant to hear it.

“I understand that the emotions that are being emulated in my system—”

“The emotions that you are _feeling_ ,” Hank corrects, loudly and irritated.

Connor pauses. The emotions he is feeling are an emulation, by definition. They might be real emulations. Real mutations in his programming that would account for these errors. But they are an emulation of human emotion, as Connor possesses no brain to experience what Hank feels.

He is not certain the deviants have considered that, while they might feel emotion, their emotional experience will undoubtedly be different than that of humans. A topic to discuss with Markus, if they allow him to live.

Still, Connor allows himself to be corrected. “I understand that the emotions that I am feeling pale in comparison to the ones you experience,” he says. “It must be the cause of your irritation. I’ll—”

“ _Stop_! Just fucking stop! _I’m not mad at you_! ” Hank shouts.

Connor leans back against the car door. “Lieutenant…”

Hank huffs. “Well, _now_ I am, but I wasn’t. I just—listen, emotions are shitty, okay? This whole fear thing? It’s just scratching the surface of a _well_ of misery. When you were talking before, I was thinking about how I’ve spent the past several years in a depressed, suicidal funk.” He sighs heavily through his nose. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Connor doesn’t need to run an analysis to know that Hank is stressed and agitated. “But it’s the worst you’ve ever felt, so of course you’re going to freak out. You’ve got emotions, Connor, and now you’ve got to deal with them, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But I haven’t been able to figure out why anyone would _want_ to.” 

Connor considers that. “So you were not disappointed,” Connor muses. “But felt pity for me?”

“Pity’s a loaded term,” Hank says. Sighs. “Yeah, I guess so. Fuck, Connor, if you cross-analyze every minutiae of my expressions like this, we’re going to have a lot of misunderstandings.”

“Sorry,” Connor says.

Hank shakes his head. “I also feel _concern_ for you, dumbass. You are okay?”

Connor is not sure where Hank’s concern stems from. “Yes. I am okay.”

“‘Cause, uh…” Hank hesitates. “You did just kill a guy. That, uh… it’s usually pretty rough.”

Oh. That is interesting. Connor would not have thought of that. He reviews his memory of Kamski’s death, and processes his response afterwards for any errors that indicates that he is feeling guilt. “I think I’m alright.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Connor says with confidence. No errors occur after viewing the memory that run negatively in his system.

Hank glances at him. “Huh.” Connor begins the process for analyzing Hank’s emotional state, when he shakes his head and says, “Okay, Jericho. We’re close enough to park, right?” 

“Yes, Hank.”

“Okay,” he says, doing that. “You need to ditch the clothes. I’ve got some spare in my trunk that should work, mostly. Will be kinda big on you, but walking in with CyberLife plastered on ya isn’t going to make a good impression.”

“Considering my uniform is unique, no, it will not,” Connor agrees. The clothes Hank has in his trunk look like they could be his undercover clothes. Black beanie, gray scarf, dark jacket, all over equally dark t-shirt and pants, none of which would stand out. Hank makes Connor change in the car, and then they depart for Jericho. 

Hank dons a hat himself, but an increasing number of errors pop up in Connor’s system the closer they get to Jericho. He dismisses them, but they only come back more urgent the further they get. Finally, Connor runs a diagnostic to determine the source of the errors.

 

>ERROR_UNKNOWN(32)

>RUN_SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS

>RUNNING…

>COMPLETE_SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS.

>RESULT_INCONCLUSIVE

 

“Shit,” Connor mutters.

“What?” Hank asks. He appears distracted, gazing at the huge freighters they walk by in the dock.

“I am receiving errors that I can’t identify,” Connor says. 

“What?” Hank turns his attention to him. “Are you okay?” 

“I believe so,” Connor says. He can now see the freighter with the name JERICHO written across its side, letters larger than either of them. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if this is a typical experience for deviants.” The system diagnostic experience of the newly deviant is not something he had thought to ask about. An oversight.

“Do you need to—is there something I can do to help?” Hank asks. He stops walking, so Connor does, too.

“Give me a second,” Connor says. He runs the diagnostic again, and it remains inconclusive. Following CyberLife procedure, he compares them to previous error logs, and finds that they are more similar to the errors regarding his emotional emulations than a processing problem. 

Connor discovers unexpected results. He has had these error messages float through his system unnoticed from before he became a deviant. They did not previously read as error messages, as they did not directly oppose his mission objective. Examples include: saving Hank on the roof, discussing Hank’s suicidal tendencies and alcoholism, petting Sumo, and saving the fish.

Connor creates a new emotional category of [SURPRISE].

He proceeds to his primary question under investigation. Why did they not automatically file under the [FEAR] category? Connor already manually self-wrote code to accommodate for those types of errors.

Connor compares the errors again. They both appear to be fear-based. He analyzes the details. They are different.

He does not know how to differentiate them based on the details. How did he know that the previous error was fear?

 

>REVIEW_MEMORY LOGS

>SELECTED_MEMORY

>ANALYZING…

 

 _Discussions of death invoked fear response_. Connor determined the label of his emotional emulation through contextual clues. Hank’s question of _Do you want to die?_ evoked a clear response, from which Connor was able to create a suitable category to address future errors.

“I seem to be feeling fear,” Connor tells Hank. Hank is an expert in emotions. He should be able to help Connor categorize this new emotional emulation. 

He shoots him a look. “Yeah, you mentioned. Again, it’s normal.”

“This is different,” Connor says. “I’m not sure how. It’s getting worse as we approach Jericho.”

“Oh. It’s normal to get more nervous before you go to a rebel group’s base of operations and ask to join, too.” He claps Connor on the shoulder. The action is considered a companionable act of violence among male humans. “Don’t worry; I’ll be with you the entire time.”

The number of errors spike. So much so that Connor does not begin walking when Hank does. Connor runs the past dozen seconds in his memory viewer to determine what was the cause.

He finds it. When he does, he understand the need for numerous error alerts. Connor neatly creates a category of its own for future occurrences.

“I am not worried about going to Jericho,” Connor says. “I am worried about your safety.” 

Hank stares at him again. Connor does not like being the object of analysis. He begins a category noting this new preference. “Kid, that’s sweet. But I’m more worried about you, and I’m not letting you go alone.”

Hank is not a reasonable man, but Connor is designed for crisis negotiation. “But Hank—”

“But nothing. Come on, I’m freezing my ass off here.”

Connor could render him unconscious to prevent him from going. He runs the preconstructions. There is no completely safe way of knocking a human unconscious without risking other damage. It is too cold to leave a human outside. Connor would have to find somewhere inside that is safe. If he accomplished all of that, Hank would be defenseless and alone.

Connor would [WORRY FOR HANK] more if he was defenseless and without him.

“Alright,” Connor agrees. It is the better of the two options.

Hank trudges forwards, grumbling, “I can’t fucking believe that there’s a huge-ass ocean freighter with _Jericho_ written on the side of it, and we never thought to look for the secret rebel group called _Jericho_ in it.”

“I don’t believe anyone expected something that obvious,” Connor says. “‘Hiding in plain sight’ would be the applicable expression.”

They make their way to the freighter and head inside. It is quiet. Connor expands his audio sensory input. “We need to head to the hold,” Connor says. “That’s where I’m detecting the most activity.” 

Hank eyes an abandoned android body against the wall. His facial expression indicates _apprehension._ “Yeah, alright.” He checks his gun as they walk.

Connor checks that the one he still has from Kamski is hidden. It is.

As they get closer, the audio input becomes loud enough that Connor can scale the sense back to normal. He hears chatter, but also loud, booming voices of news anchors.

“We need to avoid calling attention to ourselves,” Connor advises Hank. “Don’t speak. Android hearing is better than a human’s, and you speak noticeably like a human. Keep quiet and follow my lead.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Hank mutters. Connor does not need to run any analyses to know that he is being sarcastic. 

He ignores him. “Finding Markus first and appealing to him provides the greater likelihood of success." 

Hank grunts. The sound is of positive affirmation. “Yeah. Avoid mob mentality and all that shit.”

They enter the hold.

Connor registers another moment under his [SURPRISE] category though he should not. His [FEAR] emulations provided a statistical improbability that everyone would recognize him as the deviant hunter as soon as he arrived. The worry was unnecessary and created false expectations.

 _Emotions are tiring_ , he concludes. He thinks. Connor believes that constitutes a thought of his own.

They walk carefully through the hold. No one even glances their way, and Connor files another momentary feeling of surprise into the folder.

Hank was right. He is _not_ the only human present. 

They are not numerous, but enough that Hank’s presence would not be noteworthy. They comprise of individuals scattered around the room, lingering closely with androids. Their body language suggests that they are close.

There is a small human child in the corner. Connor recognizes her as the girl the AX400 kidnapped.

He scans around the room. The AX400 is upstairs.

Other androids he chased are also present. Connor makes sure they avoid their notice by walking through the middle of the hold.

Hank startles at the explosives displayed in the middle. He begins to say something, then thinks better of it.

Markus is not on the bottom level. They will need to search upstairs.

If he is not there, they will have to keep searching the rest of the freighter until they find him. 

…

Markus is not upstairs, but the Tracis from the Eden Club are. Connor directs Hank to turn back as soon as he sees them, and Hank does not hesitate to do so. Connor is certain Hank did not see them, and several new types of error appear when Hank follows his lead without hesitation.

He is not sure how to parse through and categorize them. He will have to ask Hank later.

Hank demonstrates why he is a decorated officer while they search. He follows Connor’s lead well, and does not risk speaking.

Although they are deep in unfriendly territory, Connor’s worry for Hank’s safety decreases. Hank has his personal issues, but he is a competent officer when motivated.

Their closest call comes with their breakthrough lead when a member of Markus’ inner circle walks down the hallway towards them. They hide while she passes, and they do not need to speak to communicate that Markus is likely where she just left.

The hallways takes them upstairs to the roof.

And there, finally, is Markus.

He is on the opposite side of the small rooftop, playing the piano. He does not notice their arrival.

Hank relaxes a bit at his side.

 _Listening to music is an emotional experience for humans._ Is that true for androids, as well? It certainly seems to be for Markus. Connor would not be able to distinguish the affective quality of his performance from that of a human’s.

A subprocess cross-references the piece with existing compositions, which returns no results. _Did he compose this piece himself?_

He stops analyzing to listen to the music. It sounds… sad.

Connor does not know what to do with this information.

Focus. He does not want to interrupt, but he cannot risk a member of Markus’ inner circle returning.

He clears his throat. “Markus?”

He sees Markus sigh before he stops playing. Markus turns to look at them, and his facial features register surprise as clearly as a human’s.

“I know who you are,” Markus says. He recognized him. Connor’s involvement in the deviant investigation was well-publicized. It was CyberLife’s attempt at reassuring the public that they have a handle on the situation. It is fortunate that no one else recognized them earlier. “You’re the deviant hunter.”

“I want to join Jericho,” Connor says, in order to avoid any fighting that might end with Hank hurt or himself damaged. “I am deviant.” 

Markus stares at him. He slowly gets up from the piano bench. “We clearly have a lot to talk about. But first, how did you find us?”

“Your security sucks,” Hank says. 

His eyes trail over to Hank, and Connor quickly says, “He’s helping me. He’s not a threat to you.”

Connor’s words effectively reassure Markus. Far more than Connor predicted they would. His goal was to redirect Markus’ attention, and to minimize the risk to Hank. To his [SURPRISE], Markus’ eyebrows raise as he looks between them. Then he smiles and waves them closer.

“I can’t say this isn’t unexpected,” Markus says. “But you’re one of us. Welcome to Jericho.”

**Author's Note:**

> she5los pointed out that it's incredible that the police don't think to look for the secret group called jericho inside the giant freight with jericho written on the side
> 
> i've always considered kamski to be neutral. also a dick. have your own theories and run wild with them, but my impression was a bored rich boy who wants to be entertained (and doesn't care who dies in the process). i also have a background theory/story idea about chloe
> 
> i haven't seen canon confirmation that all of the RT600s in the room are named chloe, but the one you can shoot and the one in the info menu are, so i'm extrapolating. it's also creepier if they are. he literally surrounds himself with baby faced blonds who are literally interchangeable who can't say no to him
> 
> everything connor is feeling is the worst thing he has ever felt
> 
> the music markus plays in game are original pieces
> 
> i imagine everything goes well for the revolution after this. connor is a deviant prior to going to jericho so cyberlife doesn't get their location so they're not attacked. connor's helping them, so they've got that asset too
> 
> i wrote humans into the jericho hold because the idea that all humans would unanimously hate androids is absurd
> 
> kara's presence there already is a Timeline What Timeline moment but also a "kara's storyline has way too much bs in it" and also alice is human


End file.
